The Berserk Dancer
by MHBones23321
Summary: The Hunter Kath stalks the streets, his footsteps silent in the night air. A pall has fallen over the town, the hunt has come again.
1. Chapter 1

Crack of dusk,  
All is lost,  
Except the will to be.

Now they shall see,  
What is to be,  
The Blooded eyes doth see.

The bell tolls, its hollow ring announcing the tenth hour of the night. The silver faced moon high over the city of Yharnam bathing the rooftops in pale light; the darkness of the city streets and alleys too deep for even the sun to pierce at the height of noon.

A Hunter stalks the streets, his footsteps silent in the night air. A pall has fallen over the town, the hunt has come again; and the Hunters are called forth to slaughter once more. Fear is as rampant as blood this night as the Hunter Kath patrols the neighborhoods. A scream escapes into the night air, a scream followed by the roar of death, a Beast's death knell permeating the stillness.

Panicked feet run towards Kath: light in weight, fast in pace, out of breath, without composure or poise. Not a Beast nor a Hunter, a Human. A woman in muddied white robes ran towards Kath, who turned to face the Healer's assistant, his hand gripping the twin barreled pistol in the holster on his belt. "Kind Hunter! Please, it is Sister Freid, she's needs help."

The assistant lead Kath to a nearby clinic, where the staff had gathered to wait out the night and to treat any who were harmed in the Hunt. These were no Healers, they were not trained to do much but set bones and aid the Church Healers in their duty. The Head Nurse showed Kath to a locked door, explaining along the way "Sister Freid was administering Blood Ministration when a patient attacked. She and one of our Nurses tried to restrain the man, but Sister Freid locked the door after the man killed Nurse Sachren. She said that she will not open the door unless a Hunter is here."

Kath dismissed the Head Nurse with a glance as they reached the door. His right hand went to the sheathed long sword on his hip as he rasped his gloved knuckles against the old door. There was no response. Kath turned his head, lending his ear to the door; a woman –no doubt Sister Freid was alive inside, sobbing. With a swift kick the door was broken from its hinges, and Kath stepped into the dim treatment room, only now it looked more like a butcher house: blood spattered about the floor, the walls, the ceiling. A few drops fell onto his cap, resting over his hooded hair, the room reeked of death. Kath's eyes adjusted to the darkness; one corpse was a Healers Assistant –Nurse Sachren, the other had been beaten into a bloody mess and stabbed repeatedly. The latter looked to be a typical citizen. And hunched over the bloody mess on her knees, embracing herself in fear, as if in a trance, was a Church Healer: Sister Freid.

She caught the sound of his purposefully heavy step, snapping her awake from the nightmare she had been entrapped, turning to face him. Kath struck a match against a sheet of match paper; flaring to life, the small fire showed the bloody tears streaming down Sister Freid's face –and the collapsed pupils of her eyes, it was too late for her. Kath stood over her, placing the tip of his sword to Sister Freid's breast, it's point sharp and edges serrated and trigger built into either cross guard.

A single short motion stabbed the blade into Freid's bosom, just deep enough to puncture the woman's heart.

The Healer's eyes went wide. Weak hands gripped Kath's weapon, urging it deeper into the woman's chest, and soaking gloved hands fresh crimson; how desperate her silent cry. The Hunter granted this last wish, running Sister Freid through with his blade. With her last ounce of strength; the doomed Healer grasped his collar, pulling the two close as if to an embrace "Thank… You…" she whispered with her final breath before going limp

Kath stood again placing a foot against the corpse, ripping his blade from the Monster. There was no ceremony, no grief, or remorse. She was just another lump of flesh now. Wiping the blood from the sword's edge on the corpse' robes, Kath left. Ignoring the wails of the Humans he passed, dismissing the demands for answers. Sooner or later: each of them would understand his actions. Each of them would eventually beg for the same end he had granted the Healer.

When had he become numb to the bloodshed?

oo00oo00oo  
Note from the Author

Good evening, and thank you for joining me for this night. This story is the sum of many complicated emotions, as many good stories are. I only hope that this story can be called good. This night should leave you with questions, so feel free to ask them in the comments, I'll get to them as often as I can.


	2. Chapter 2

The Witching Hour set,  
The Hunt is met,  
Half Cut Blood runs cold.

Soon they shall fall,  
By the blade's withdrawal,  
Behold the horrific bestowal.

The bell tolls, its hollow ring announcing the midnight hour. The silver faced moon high over the city of Yharnam shrouded by thick clouds, pale light dancing across the rooftops; the darkness of the city streets and alleys too deep for even the sun to pierce at the height of noon, now running red with blood.

The Hunter Kath stalked through the empty streets, his cotton clothing of deep brown and green clinging to his skin under the lightweight duster he wore. The summer air had grown heavy with the impending rain yet to fall; to inhale was to drink the breath of a city awaiting it's drowning. The Beasts had grown restless, the stench of blood and fear driving their need to kill higher. The pack that tracked Kath numbered nearly ten, most of them walked on their hind legs, but 2 –no 3 by the sound of their steps- walked on all fours; those would be the biggest threat.

Kath walked with a purposeful lethargy, following him proved all too easy for the creatures on his scent, as he lead them from the narrow alleys where he could have cut them down one at a time. Instead he stopped in a wide street, where they would encircle and tear him apart. The Beasts moved like a pack of wolves, not attacking at first, climbing over or ducking under obstacles to close off his retreat. Kath waited, not for the circle to seal his route off, not for the Pack to attack, he waited for the Pack to form a crescent around him. He waited with blade and twin barreled pistol in hand, slowly exhaling the humid air, steeling his nerves.

In the flash of a gunshot: the Beast to his left fell to the ground, it's knee split apart from the Quicksilver Bullet, and Kath lunged right, toothed edge slicing through hide and flesh to sever the tendon in another's arm. The Pack had been caught off guard, and only two attacked; the first met the pommel of Kath's sword; breaking it's jaw and lowering it to the bricks below. The second, and larger Beast leapt for the Hunter who only ducked below it, letting the abomination fly over and past him. Now facing the horde, Kath could count with his eyes the prey he had lured; a pack of 9, 2 were now crippled, 1 walked on four powerful legs, another on six.

Unfazed; Kath spun around, plunging his weapon into the throat of the Beast he had ducked under, and holstering his pistol. In a single deft motion: his left hand came to the hilt of the long sword and twisted hard on the lower end, activating the mechanism in the weapon; the edges split open and extended, one blade becoming three, revealing the heavy barrel inside.

The Beast's head was severed completely, showering the nearby wall in a coating of glistening burgundy. Kath charged into the Pack with reckless abandon, swinging his claymore in wide arcs, engaging the Beasts in a bloody dance of violence, and gore, and hewn limbs and beheadings. His duster with its thin riveted steel plates above and below his shoulders and elbows protected him from the glancing blows and near cuts his dance partners attempted. As fast as it had started, the last Beast groaned its death knell, and the street once filled with chaos was quiet again.

A nearly silent whistle caught the Hunter's ears, instinct from years of violence moved him, lifting his weapon as he spun around, deflecting the two knives thrown from the rooftops. He kept his sword raised in a high guard, the edges lifted as if to block the moon's light from his eyes. A woman's voice reached down from the shadows deepened by the darkening clouds "I had feared you had lost your mind, fighting Beasts like that." The speaker didn't show herself, but her voice held poise not found in most Hunters, from the sound she was in her 3rd or 4th decade.

"But then," Her thick foreign accent came again "judging from that weapon: I shouldn't be surprised you would charge a Pack like that. That sword looks to be Danse Macabre, which makes you the Hunter 'Berserk Dancer Kath' –or at least you have his weapon. But no, I think not; your footwork is too perfect; you've been using that sword for a long time."

"After what you did to that Healer, I would have thought you were close to turning, cutting down an innocent tends to do that. I saw her eyes, it was too late for her, you gave her a mercy. Don't worry; I'm not here to hunt you, I have other prey tonight." this Hunter was different from others, her eyes were sharp, her aim flawless, and to have followed Kath without his knowing was a feat all its own.

A glint of silver caught his eye, another knife –but not meant for him- stabbed into a nearby corpse, an empty chime from the impact hinted at its Arcane nature. "Should you encounter another about to turn; its Rune should suppress the Beast for a short time. Consider it a gift from a little girl you tried to save many years ago. May your Hunt be long and well. After all: a Hunter must hunt. Be safe, Berserk Dancer Kath."

The presence left, and Kath was left alone. The knife was silver handled, with a narrow blade and a thumb sized ruby inlaid in the handle, a strange Rune etched into its face. Tucking the blade into his breast pocket, the first drops of rain fell as Kath resumed his Hunt, ignoring the ache oozing from his old injuries.

ooo000ooo000ooo

A new actor steps onto the stage, what role will she play? What does she mean by "A gift from a little girl you tried to save"? What is the purpose behind it? Leave a comment and let me know.


	3. Chapter 3

The bell struck thrice,  
Above the sacrifice,  
Rent apart by greed.

Angel of Insight,  
Below towering might,  
Here to plant it's seed.

The bell tolls, it's muffled tone announcing the third hour of night. Brief flashes of white obliterate the darkness across the rooftops before the city is devoured by darkness again. The city sleeps despite the fear of the nightmare outside the warm houses. The city streets run wet from the storm, the heavens above let loose their cries in thunder, demonstrate their anger with lightning, and weep over the city devoid of hope.

Kath's hunt took him into the canals below the city center. Something akin to a whisper had been his guide. At first he followed it, but then felt his skin crawl when he was lead into the sewers. This place was wrong somehow; his every instinct told him to run, even the air smelled wrong, like paint thinner and the uncertain stench of something beyond his own nose. And yet: Kath found himself here. The heavy clouds had become a downpour, and the canal waters had risen to his shins, his leather boots stained from the filth. The walls rose to the city streets which opened to the sky above, his hearing numbed from the sound of ten thousand teardrops falling from the sky, and countless more pouring in from the city above. The omnipresent whisper persisted, beckoning him deeper into the sewers.

The voice urged him forward, a whisper gurgling blood into his ear: _**"**__**Bcknd-Sfln-rtGst-ghtM-stDp-thrW-wdnDr-tWh-Wn-Bld"**_

The voice repeated itself again, and again. Where was it coming from? Kath stopped, tuning out the other sounds, letting his ears lead him to the source, it was coming from nearby-

"_**GwrL-n-hT-PthDs-LrthFW-lKlr-lSYR-r-Pc-GBn-n-Ht-CMss-Rdn-Lght-f-MdnsS-dlB-nRHnt-lsdCT-nBtH-sFlH-f-LS"**_

The voice faded out and the Hunter found himself falling to his knees in an unfamiliar place. Kath blinked in the darkness. Bodies; everywhere, many half Beast, some had changed fully, victims of the Ashen Blood. Slumped against bricks, some left to rot forever in the water, which flowed cleaner from a lack of use. Here the walls were rougher cut; brick built around raw stone, granting the Hunter enough space to swing his claymore though only just. The rains had lessened revealing the city and smoke rising from it. Kath surveyed the rooftops above; neglected and charred, some still lit with embers. This place had been afflicted by The Ashen Blood, set alight, and abandoned to the Beasts and flames. The Hunter's eyes widened as the truth was made known, only one place had been left to suffer this fate: Old Yharnam.

Kath had found himself wondering the city canals, below Old Yharnam –overrun by Beasts, and his mind invaded. Kath's Nightmare had begun.

"_**BhlD-hT-SnS-f-BWl-ssLR-N-f-hslF-nlcN-tY-T-Bmc-tfSh-RthR-dn-rGt-hT-lgSnF"**_

Kath stood in a narrow passage, torch and sword in hand. The water was lower here, rising mere inches. His shoulders brushed the walls, his hood brushing against the ceiling. It was quieter here, the sounds from the rain far in the distance, twisting its way through the halls; there was no way of knowing which was the way out. With no choice but to press forward: the lost Hunter steeled himself. Chipping a large piece of brick with Danse Macabre's pommel to mark his path as his entered the larger passageway. Complete darkness hid the path left and right, but the water flowed left ever so lightly, and that would be his path out.

_Drip-drop, plip-plop_. A shiver shot up the veteran Hunter's spine. Kath spun around to face up stream, sword raised, yet nothing showed in his torch light. Drip-drop, plip-plop. Kath turned and thrusted, his instinct telling him of the danger, his sword point meeting sticky flesh. The orange light shown across the darkness, revealing a creature out of his nightmares: a robed human standing Kath's height, but his skin paler than moonlight, thin as a long deceased corpse, but unmistakably like a drowned man.

A tentacle had emerged from the creature's left shoulder –the joint hewn apart, draping over his other shoulder the tendril coiled around his arm, merging into his smallest two fingers, dangling limply from his hand raised as if waving, the same hand Kath's weapon pierced. The figure stood silently, his glossy black eyes betraying no emotion, nor intention, even as oily pus flowed from his palm, falling past his torn and moldy robes. The creature said nothing; the jagged slash across his throat had surely severed his vocal cords, leaving him to mutely shout his anger into the screaming world around him.

The blade that pierced the Creature's hand slid out without resistance, the steel blade covered in a thick coating of crimson, blood already coagulating in the damp air. The creature pointed behind Kath, but that was not the reason Kath turned; his nerves told him to turn, the Voice told him to turn, his own memory told him to face the entity behind him.

_Drip-Drop-Plip-Plop_. Another figure stood, a woman in a blood stained dress, her face covered by a veil, masking her features, and the Hunter's heart skipped a beat. _Drip-drop-plip-plop_. "Kath." A new existence some ten feet away at his back whispered into the Hunter's ear: a small girl in filthy clothes only just out of reach of darkness behind him, standing with the creature in toe. Kath was paralyzed, a statue from fear as the creature placed his sticky palm against her cheek, revealing rows of sharp moldy teeth in his maw. "Why?" the girl asked while the slimy tendril slithered around the little girl's neck, prying open her mouth and worming down her throat. Silence enveloped the sewer, the storm in the distance, the slow drip of water, Kath's heart, and his roar of agony. The quiet was interrupted with the snap of small vertebrae, and small knees splashing into shallow water. Kath found his strength again rushing to catch the girl, her body turning to foamy pus and evaporating before he could reach her.

The creature was gone, but the woman remained, who Kath now stood to face again. Her dress was gone now, her flesh partially rotted, pale, and her face hidden behind hair blacker than a dead moon, matted with blood and mud from her shallow grave, and pain flowed into Kath's heart again. "Why Kath?" she asked, her body shaking in the winter cold. Her distended belly convulsed, her rotted inners being dragged into her filth covered torso by small hands from inside her ribs "Why?" her hollow voice questioned again. Kath felt his emotions stir at the memories brought back to the surface; a mix of anger and sorrow, and some other feeling he had long since thrown away. There came a sound like tearing paper, or leather, blood spilled out from under the woman's ribs, a pair of tiny hands ripping through flesh "Why?" two voices asked together as the partially digested girl twisted and contorted and fought against the umbilical cord about her neck and rotted at her belly, "Why Kath?" they asked again; their voices distorting. Fighting to tear herself free of her bonds, the girl reached towards Kath; the woman stepped forward, dragged by the child in her gut **"****WHY"** they shouted in unison.

Kath cut down the abomination; foaming into water with one last wail of pain, pleading for mercy long since hated, even longer since given, the final sound: the chime of a simple knife striking ice covered stone. An illusion, torn from his mind, a horror bred in his nightmares made flesh, his sin personified. The Creature from before stood upstream, lifting a silent hand out into the darkness, acting as a guide for the tormented Hunter.

Without a second thought: Kath stabbed it through the heart and ripped the blade free, casting the creature to the side, not stopping to see if the creature still lived as the enraged Hunter marched deeper into the darkness without care for the blood streaming from his right palm, falling from his sword's crossguard. His breath had become hate, rage had filled his every muscle, his blood became unfettered wrath. The monstrosity that wronged him would die for the resurrection of his pain and those memories he had fought to move past.

"_**Rgt-s-th-frngfs-f-ht-nttgrf-ym-tyh-rts-n-trml-vrn-t-tts-rtht"**_

Brick and mortar met Kath's shoulder when the voice left him. His torch had been long since forgotten, instead an unearthly light tinged the world around him in a shade of blue, revealing his surroundings to his eyes. He still faced up stream, at least; what he felt was up stream, the water flowed with an unnatural slowness, becoming nearly static as Kath continued his search.

The tunnel opened into a wide open room, the walls and ceiling vanished into the dark. His gut turned at the the smell of lacquer and wood stain filling his nose, –what was making Danse Macabre shake like that? A chill birthed in the deepest pits of hell ate into his flesh. His blade continued to shake –no, not his weapon, his hands were shaking, fists clenched to the point of bones breaking. A sensation ran through him, something he had abandoned years before; left buried in a shallow grave.

Kath took off in a sprint, whatever was here was beyond him, he had stepped into a serpent's nest, and he was but a mouse to it. In the darkness he felt for the brick he had broken before, the voice pursuing him like a vengeful Banshee. His hand found the damaged brick, and his steps followed the path without pause. In the umbral abyss he trusted only his instincts, and the slowly rising waters. Only to step once more into the depths of the Greater Being's lair. The blue glow showed him the same room again before being consumed in darkness again.

The air fell heavily on Kath's shoulders, robbing his lungs of breath and his legs of strength. The shadows melted from _It_: a massive eye made of a hundred more, surrounded by a darkness from which more spawned seemingly at random, for each that closed another opened as if fading in and out of oblivion. Each stared into the Hunter's soul, each ripping another painful memory to the surface. Kath collapsed, the weakness of his flesh was nothing to the pain of his heart, and for an instant: the Mighty Hunter yearned for the release of death.

The room was suddenly lit with a brilliant lumen essence, a dozen lights heralded by the distorted shattering of crystal, streamed towards the Eye like falling stars, each bursting with a holy aura as they made impact. The Eye convulsed in pain, each of it's smaller parts reduced to umbral mist. A tendril stretched outward, impaling the creature and pulling it out of Kath's vision. An unholy scream of pain filled the room and then all was silent save for the slow steps approaching the wounded Hunter.

Moon light fell into the room from a long since damaged roof, revealing the savior: he stood over Kath, his white and gray robes in keeping with the Healing Church's garb, he looked young yet walked with a metal cane -a Trick Weapon called a Threaded Cane. But it was his face mask hiding his forehead and eyes the gave him away as a member of the Church Choir, the most elite of the Church's Hunters. Somehow the shadow under the Choir member's eyes seemed to writhe and twist.

"I am sorry for using you like that, but you have aided Mankind in it's ascension to the heavens. To have died to glory, what insights into hell will you have?" The Choir member left, his stride unnaturally light, as if his feet no longer felt the water they fell into. Kath slipped from the world, and into the abyss.

The Berserk Dancer took a sharp breath, the floor was no longer covered in water. His palm healed over into a scar as if infection had nearly taken his hand. Joints popped and ached as the Hunter stood breaking into a hobbled run in effort to catch the Choir Hunter. In the darkness his eyes failed him and Kath's foot caught against something on the floor, sent the Hunter tumbling into a roll. He judged his timing wrong as his sword arm's shoulder impacted brick and mortar, sending pain throughout his upper arm. Unfazed: the Hunter recovered and spun with sword raised, and was met only with silence and stillness. His left hand reached for his match book and struck one. Phosphor met his nostrils and the body he tripped over met his eyes. The Hunter turned the stiff corpse onto it's back; gray colored robes, metal mask, Threaded Cane nearby. Lighting his hand lamp, Kath removed the Choir Hunter's mask: his skin was dried as if weeks old, but his eye sockets were stained black.

But what had killed him? His throat had been slit with crossing cuts. And the tendons in each arm pit had been severed with vertical slashes. And each lung pierced with nearly identical stabs. Each wound was near perfect, nearly identical, and showed similar blood loss to one another, each meant to debilitate or kill as fast possible. But one was out of place: his eye sockets had burst outward, the bones had been scorched and shattered from the inside.

Kath stood over the corpse, and spared a glance for his own palm; the blood ought to have washed away, and yet remained. His own body should have withered, and instead he felt the hours of the night, and fading of adrenaline from his blood, both without the distortion of time. For any Human, for many a Hunter, this would have jarred them to their core, left them wanting to know more. But Kath saw only a trail that had already ended. And with few hours left in his hunt, his mind turned back to that most ill task, and he followed the passage back to the night.

oo00oo00oo  
Note from the Author

Thank you so much for continuing to read this. I know things don't make sense, but it shouldn't, this is Bloodborne, and the stories in Bloodborn are rarely explained to us. If you enjoyed me torturing Kath; let me know, or if you have any ideas about who the Little Girl and the Woman are, or the Creatures Kath encountered, let me know, or post a comment.

But the night is not over yet, and until it is; a Hunter must hunt.


	4. Chapter 4

At night's final hour,  
Relinquish thy honor,  
Find in death thy rest.

Dream of power,  
You who cower,  
At end of thy quest.

The bell tolls, it's defiant ring heralding the dawn soon to come. The city is revealed once more, the impurities of filth and blood washed away, the rooftops graced once more by the pale Moon in her final moments of supremacy, before her place in the sky is usurped once more by the Sun. The Hunt nears its end, and the bloodlust grows as star light dims, and the fear begins to fade.

A lone Hunter stalks a gleaming tower, little flames lighting the streets below reflect from her polished windows, like glimmers of hope in a hopeless night. Here in this tower above the city; the Healing Church holds no share, this place was meant for others in power, though none remember who they are. It's marble walls and floors, and her limestone foundations stand strong despite years of obscurity and shifting powers. Her marble of ivory gold now marred by the deep sanguine of blood.

The Berserk Dancer withdrew his Danse Macabre from the slain Beast at his feet. One of a dozen he had felled in this place of opulence. Yet more remained, farther up the winding stairs and elevators, screams and sounds of struggle proved as much. Kath ascended the worn flights of stairs, chasing down down the struggle. 10 flights. 15 flights.

The Hunter lost count, the Beasts below must have been slow to arrive. Soon the Hunter began finding signs of violence: claw marks cut into the marble, blood spatter, a Knight in metal armour slaughtered, a weapon discarded in frightened haste. The attack must have have been swift since the alarms had not been raised. These Knights were trained to fight Humans, not Beasts. Their weapons are straight edged swords and pikes and halberds meant to cut down Brigades. Not Trick Weapons meant to slay Beasts.

Finally Kath found the source of the sounds, a large pack of Beasts moving across the massive room, 100 feet long and 50 across and a ceiling standing at least as high, massive windows lining the walls revealed the city below..

Kath fetched a small black sphere from his belt. Striking the Spark Paper wick against the metal body, he closed the distance to the pack while hurling the Fire Bomb into the mass. The flames tore through the Beasts, sending them into a panic as the Hunter's blade met flesh, hollow slashes severing tendon, shallow stabs twisted into muscle, leaving limbs mangled and his victims crawling. Brain matter and bone were reduced to pink mist with the first gunshot of Kath's pistol. Soon the floor was slick with blood, fast pooling around the bodies both limp and dragging.

Even with his speed, and his eloquent cuts and lighting fast thrusts, the Hunter felt the sting of claws. With his protective metal plates, he only narrowly avoided losing his arm several times. Going so far as to sacrifice his left forearm to deflect blows that would have caused grave injury to his sword arm or torso, but his grip held true to the pistol in his palm despite his bones being nicked by beastal talons.

Soon few remained; one charged his right, and was caught against the Hunter's shoulder, whose blade slide across the fur covered throat of his foe, spilling blood over the Hunter's coat. The struggling Beast shielded Kath from the swipe of another. With a shrug: the Berserk Dancer doffed the bleeding corpse-to-be and thrust into the ribs of the would be attacker. A third Beast reared up behind the Hunter, as the second fell back pulling the Hunter's blood caked sword with it, and risk long since embraced was left the only choice: with the Beast's mouth open wide to rip and tear, Kath plunged his pistol into the gaping maw and at once felt the creature gag at the intrusion before the muffled Quick Silver bullet tore through its organs and embedded in the tile floor. The limp creature's fangs ripped into his arm, wrist, and hand, leaving his pistol shaking in his grip. The last Beast -still impaled with Danse Macabre- stood again, the stab had been stopped by dense ribs, and failed to pierce the heart. The prey charged and the Hunter dived into the creature, the two bodies forcing the serrated sword through bones and meat and both fell in a heap.

And then all was still. Kath shook noticeably with each exhausted breath as he came back to a knee. He had chosen to take this risk, to stare death in the eye night after night, yet some part of him still feared the wounds he had suffered. Some part would look back to the shallow grave again, not at the dawn that was promised by the love he had buried. That oldest pain returned, and the demand to keep fighting did as well. The blood soaked Hunter held a fist size glass vial in his hand, stabbing the vial into his thigh: he at once felt the warmth of this most pure blood, given by a saint, infuse and mix with his own. His wounds began to mend, it was slow, and it would take several minutes for some, but the pain became a dull throb, and the shaking ceased.

It was only now that Kath became aware of the dozen Humans in the room with him. Some dressed in garish gowns of the decrepit officials who once held the true power of Yharnam, reduced to impotence by the Healing Church, three others in platemail shielding the officials from the blood shed. Kath felt his stomach churn, these weaklings would pretend power while they cower behind their Honorable Guards, unwilling to accept that they are no match for the horrors that lurk in the night. Ripping Danse Macabre from the corpse and wiping the blood onto the fur coat of the body. Kath approached the Officials, at first the Knights attempted to block him, but allowed him past as he stared them down. The first Official was pale, wounded, near shock, Kath stabbed him with a vial of Blood, and color began returning to the fat cheeks of wrinkled flesh. Then came the sound, claws on stone, more Beasts approached from below the stairwell, draw by the smell of blood and fear.

A scream escaped an old raspy throat, an Official was shuffling away from the stairwell, had he heard the Beasts? Kath stepped in front of the Old Man, who fell in shock. Kath dropped to a knee, taking the aged face in his hand, and forced the man to look at him. There was shouting, but Kath betrayed his ears to his sight. The Old Man, his eyes bled, his pupils had collapsed. He was near turning. Kath stood again and brought the sword tip to the Beast's neck, Kath's ears were trying to warn him of something, but all that mattered was to kill the creature kneeling before him.

Steel plate met Kath as two of the guards lifted him from the ground, pushing him away from the Officials as they gathered around the Beast soon to turn. Kath thrashed, throwing the guards off their feet and stepped forward to slaughter the creature, some of the humans had gathered around it, sheltering it from from the merciful death a Hunter promises, blocking Kath from his prey. They would not stop him from killing this Beast, no one would. Not them, not the guards, not _her,_ no one. He threw the first human to the side, stomped into the next and stepped over him as he thrust his sword into the Beast's scruff.

Blood spattered and Kath was thrown clear by the Beast's new arm. He could only stare in disbelief at the sight: flesh ripped and tore, bone grew to massive size and density, all in an instant the body of the feeble old man was torn asunder by it's new form -heralded by an unearthly scream- a Monster built like something between a Wolf and a Fox standing hunched as tall as four men, as tall as ten if it stood straight. Why had they stopped him? Why did they get in his way? It was a Beast, a monster to be cut down and slaughtered, and now it was likely beyond Kath's ability to kill alone.

For a moment he thought to leave the fools to their fate.

Kath charged, intent on killing the Beast before it gained its bearing, only for the Hunter to be tackled to the ground by another Beast, lifting the assailant with his feet, Kath held the creature for a moment before dropping it on his blade.

There were shouts and screams when Kath regained his footing and wrenched his weapon free. The largest Beast had killed the last of the Knights, and now slowly advanced on the cowards, unable to even flee. It was sickening to watch them unable to move or fight. How mighty they once thought themselves, and now they were nothing. They knew better than to stand between a Hunter and his prey, yet they tried to stop him. Anger and rage began to rise in the Hunter's heart. They would perish for their incompetence, and Kath no longer cared. Blood pooled in his eyelid staining the world in his left eye blurry red and pain shot through arm, a spasm forced him to drop his beloved pistol, and coarse roar escaped his lips as he ran without reason in the group of Beasts. Swinging his long sword in wide arcs with both hands, not unlike a club, he cut them down. Recklessness gave way to fury when a Beast landed a glancing cut on the Hunter's arm.

The blood lust took hold, Kath felt blood spatter across his duster, mask and hood, and knocking off his cap. With a single rage fueled punch broke the creatures jaw. A one handed swing separated it's head, and a mighty back hand swatted away another. He cut his way through the smaller Beasts, with hack and cleave, necks snapped and torsos pierced with claw as the Hunter cut his way through the pack toward the titanic Beast. Kath danced about the Monster, weaving between its legs and attacks, leaving his own marks on its flesh, until an opening was made: the Berserk Dancer lept for the Beast's head and swung his blade for the base of the skull, but was blocked by the Beast's wrist. With preternatural strength and hate, or perhaps pain, the Bloodied Hunter forced his blade through bone with a ferocious roar, snapping the blade in two and removing the Monster's hand, before landing on his feet.

That wonderful scream of pain shook through the Hunter, leaving him unable to move before being thrown back by the Monster's remaining claw. Kath impacted the far wall, and fell to his knees. His mind become a void, all that mattered was to kill the Beast that turned away from him. Wrath become lust for blood as the Hunter let out a deep growl.

A hollow chime from a small bell caught his ear. Below him, having fallen from his torn and blood soaked breast pocket, was a small silver knife. An unknown voice was forced loose, his own voice fought to return. He fought to remind himself what that knife was for, acting against the foreign sound from inside his own soul: Kath plunged the pristine blade into his chest.

And his mind was made clear. Blood had not pooled under his eye; his eye bled, his vision was blurred from a collapsed pupil. And his left arm now ended in a large beastial claw.

The Berserk Dancer had fallen to Beasthood. Nothing was left now, this was his final night, he had become the thing he sought to cut his penance out of. In this crimson stained room, only two Beasts remained; one a giant soon to kill the last of the weak, the other a fallen Hunter who took his sword back into his hand, before driving the blade through his corrupted shoulder. These two Beasts: they would be Kath's final prey. With a twist of the pommel, the broken Danse Macabre snapped open, cutting away the perverted limb. Kath stood and charged with reckless abandon, intent of killing both Beasts at once.

Kath had cast aside his trepidation and fear.

His opening was narrow, but he took it: leaping blade first against the Monster's throat, Kath pierced it's hide and arteries. The creature fell back into the window, and both Beasts fell to the city below.

For there is no reason to fear the inevitable.

oo00oo00oo

Things are coming to a head, the night is nearly over, the final hour of night is here. When did Kath fall? Why did he fall? Maybe you know. Post a comment, and share your thoughts.


	5. Chapter 5

Crack of dawn,  
All is gone,  
Even the will to be.

Now you shall see:  
What is to be,  
As Blooded eyes doth see.

For whom the bells tolls:  
Time leaves cold.

Never forget,  
Thy adage of old:

We are born of the Blood,

Made men by the Blood,

Undone by the Blood.

Our eyes have yet to open,

Fear the Old Blood.

Dawn was near, the eastern sky begins to turn from twilight to orange, the storm having long since moved on, now only sparse clouds remained. The city of Yharnam slowly awakens to the aftermath of the night's horror and carnage: blood slowly runs out of the streets, bodies will be collected and buried -the Beast's burned. Night nears its end, and two figures fall from a great height, soon to enter the eternal night that awaits.

The gargantuan Beast struck the rooftops first, the force of impact throwing Kath from the creature. The Hunter turned Beast was catapulted with Danse Macabre in hand before a sickening snap rendered the world black.

The Hunter's eyes slowly opened to the sky, immediately his lungs struggled against the intruding object in his chest, forcing scarlet fluid out his mouth, into his blood clogged mask. Impaled on pointed stone wing of a short gargoyle statue, puncturing through his torso, laying mere inches from the roof tiles, Kath could only wait for the end, his hand holding fast to Danse Macabre, like a lover unwilling to let go. How long had he slept before being woken again?

To one side the roof lay flat, on the other it sloped down, from which a low weak growl and sound of crunching roof tiles reached the Hunter's ears. The Beast continued to live. Defiant against the death it could not avoid. The broken form of the massive Beast pushed forward with it's remaining leg, the other broken and limp, it's shattered forelimb dragging along side it. The Beast was nothing like the terrifying monstrosity it had been before, smearing blood as it fought to approach the Hunter that had sealed it's fate.

Yet, for all the damage the Beast had suffered, approach it did; an encroaching grisly death for the Hunter possessing only his broken claymore, and pinned to a statue. Helpless to the jaws that inched toward him. Such a pathetic sight. Such a pitiful end for a Hunter, but the end deserving of the Berserk Dancer. The end he had once sought, finally brought to bear. The Beast's breath was hot on the Hunter skin, even from this distance of two arms-lengths. Yes, this was the death a Blooded Hunter deserved. But Kath was no longer a Hunter.

And this was not how he wished to enter the eternal void.

As the Beast closed the distance with its jaws open wide, Kath raised his weapon, stabbing the Beast through the roof of its mouth. The creature gagged, and struggled weakly to dislodge the weapon, and Kath squeezed the trigger built into the crossguard. A fiery blast erupted from the heavy barrel running along the Trick Weapon's blade. A shot of bone and cooked brain matter exploded outward from the Beast scalp. The Beast slumped to the side, finally dead. Kath lay limp, one of the two Beasts had perished, now Kath had only to wait for the dawn he would never see. His hand relaxed, finally releasing Danse Macabre. His eyes staring into the slowly changing sky.

"I had feared this would this would happen." A voice softly greeted Kath's ears: the familiar voice of a woman in her 3rd or perhaps 4th decade, possessing a poise not found in many Hunters. The Huntress who had given Kath the knife that had saved his mind from the Beast. She was dressed in garb he did not recognize, with a cape of deep black, and a curved short sword on each hip, her face completely covered by a shawl. Her steps seemed impossibly light, or perhaps Kath's ears were failing him as she knelt down to examine his eyes. Her hand lingered over his chest, testing his wound. There was no sigh, no remorse, only certainty when next she spoke "I cannot save you, but I can make your end faster." Kath only turned his face to the east, his view blocked by higher buildings, the Huntress turned as well, attempting to understand his plea, how desperate his silent cry: to live just long enough for the dawn. "Aye, I can grant you that wish."

The Huntress slid the needle of the Blood vial into Kath's thigh, but saintly Blood would not sustain him long enough. A gloved hand pulled off the Hunter's mask, revealing the scars across his chin and jaw made by nails that had cut deeper than flesh or bone, and the jagged slash across his throat had surely severed his vocal cords, leaving him to mutely shout his pain into the screaming world around him.

A pair of fingers worked Kath's mouth open before forcing a pellet of Beast Blood under his tongue where it dissolved. A new aggression took him for a moment, adrenaline surged and for a moment Kath felt the foreign voice return before his heart rate returned to normal. Pain shot through Kath as the Huntress lifted him from the statue, ripping more flesh, and drawing more blood from the corpse. But the Blood vial and Beast Blood pellet worked together as designed, forcing Kath to cling to life, awakening the Beast that he had become and the unnatural durability the Beast Blood gave him.

The Huntress layed Kath on a higher roof top, where he was able to gaze across the city, to the burning orange of the next day. No longer did he have the strength to move, to even breathe was an act of defiance against the Reaper. A weight was set in his hand, and then his hand set over his chest; the broken Danse Macabre a familiar friend for this moment.

When the light of the sun fell across the Hunter's face, and then the Hunter was no more.

The bell tolls. Its glorious ring sounding the end of night -heralding the new dawn. The sun shines over the city of Yharnam, bathing the city in the light of day; the darkness of the city streets and alleys obliterated by the light of day.

A Specter stalks the roof tops, her footsteps silent in the Summer day. Joy has risen again with the sun; and the Hunters are allowed to rest, their prey slaughtered once more. Hope is bountiful as the sea side breeze, as Kath slips from the waking world of the dawn, and sleeps in eternal night: where he may have found his peace.

oo00oo00oo

And that is where Kath's story comes to an end. Any thoughts or comments are welcome. In the interest of honesty: even I do not have all the answers to this story, only theories and stories. And there are questions left unanswered.

But no story is complete without those tools use in it's execution:

ooo000ooo000ooo

Berserk Hunters Garb  
Garb of the Berserk Hunter, Kath. Oddly, while most Hunters eschew the protection of heavy armor in favor of speed; this clothing features a number of steel plates to help protect the arms.

Kath is said to have held no interest in the Healing Church, joining the Hunt not out of duty, but in penance. This Hunter's garb was found in a dream after his passing, but how they came to be there is a mystery.

ooo000ooo000ooo

Danse Macabre

A serrated longsword, it's transformed state is more akin to a claymore, with a large barrel hidden between it's segments.

An unusual Trick Weapon, this blood stained blade was not made by the Healing Church, nor a Hunter. Kath himself made this weapon prior to becoming a Hunter of the Church, though he would regretfully take part in the Hunt before joining those ill fated ranks.

In its normal form: this weapon is wielded with accuracy and finesse, striking at joints to cripple and bleed foes. When the pommel is twisted: the blade splits into three and becomes a claymore, Kath wielded this form with reckless abandon and sought to maim and kill with each strike, each swing building his momentum, and for that: he gained the title Berserk Dancer.

For only the mad would attack pack of Beasts thusly. To attack Beasts with so little concern for one's own life, surely one must be without mind, or filled with pain.

ooo000ooo000ooo

Twin Evelyn

Beloved pistol of the Berserk Dancer, Kath.

Appears to have been a specially made Evelyn from the Castle Cainhurst. It has been retooled with a second barrel and trigger. This pistol belonged to no mere knight of Cainhurst, and was a fine gift. Each barrel is engraved with a different name, and while the engraver worked with pride and love, time and use has left her work faded, worn, and illegible.

Kath treated this pistol with timeless unending care, but lost it when he fell to Blood lust. Yet: it was found with his garb in a dream, having been retrieved by a wraith.

ooo000ooo000ooo

Silvered Ruby Knife

A mysterious knife, it's small straight edged blade is only as long as the final digit of a finger and just as wide. It's small size makes it ill suited to combat, but it seems to repress the extremes of humanity. Where it came from is unknown.

The handle produces a soothing chime, known to calm infants, and relax the weary, yet the sound is without instrument or tool.

Oddly, many have claimed to own such a blade, but all meet the Reaper a short time after.


End file.
